


Hand Drawn

by StilesBastille24



Series: Milkovichs and Cookies [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, very slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 21:45:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3705621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StilesBastille24/pseuds/StilesBastille24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miss Torise smiles pleasantly at him, “You must be Yevgeny's father, Mr. Milkovich, nice to meet you.”<br/>And Mickey has a whoa wtf moment because he has literally never been referred to as Mr. Milkovich in his life. It’s completely surreal. “Yeah, you too.”<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Hand Drawn

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up about twice as long as I intended. I honestly have no idea what happened, but hopefully you like it anyway.

Going back to school is practically giving Mickey fucking hives. He hates this shit. The tiny desks, the oppressively cheerful wall decorations, yelling at you to stay in school, care about reading, and avoiding drugs and alcohol. Right. Cuz Mickey excelled at all that shit. 

But Ian is dragging him in by the arm and Mickey keeps restlessly adjusting his tie because he can’t decide between strangling himself to death or ripping it off entirely. “You look fine,” Ian says, trying to bat away Mickey’s hands and failing.

“Yes, not at all like piece of shit,” Svetlana adds, grabbing Mickey’s hand and forcing it to hold onto hers. 

“Fuck, yes, thank you, Lana, that’s what I wanted to hear,” Mickey bitches. And Jesus, is he sweating? God, this school is sweltering, someone should turn the fucking heat down by like a thousand degrees.

“She’s kidding, Mick,” Ian placates.

“Oh, so I do look like shit?” He digs his heels into the scuffed linoleum and refuses to be moved. His entourage reels to a stop with him, Ian tripping over his feet and Svetlana almost spraining her wrist. 

“Mickey?” Ian hikes his eyebrows at him, clearly confused about Mickey’s reluctance, which is insane. The fucker should know exactly why he hates being here. 

“Come, we should not be late,” Lana says, tugging at his hand, but gently this time. She’s watching him critically, her cat like eyes creased at the sides. And Mickey hates that, being under her microscope. 

“I’m not going,” Mickey announces, surprising himself, because he just decided this. But, yeah, no he doesn’t have to do this. This isn’t his responsibility. Svetlana can do this. Fuck, even Ian can do this. And they’d both do it better than Mickey so, “I’m going home.”

Svetlana’s jaw drops, anger building quickly in her gaze. Ian though waves her off. “Lana, you go ahead, tell them we’ll be there in a sec.” Then he laces his fingers through Mickey’s and tows him toward the bathroom. 

With a curse in Russian, Lana leaves them, walking down the hall towards the open doors of different classrooms. Mickey twists his hand free of Ian because he might love the guy but they aren’t fucking holding hands here where a bunch of assholes could make a problem out of it. Mickey’s got enough shit going on to not want to deal with that right now. 

Ian shoves him into the bathroom. Seriously shoves him into a public school bathroom. Fucking disgusting. The place has those weird mirrors that are dented and warped, sinks with the bulbs of questionable pink soap next to them. 

“What the fuck, Ian?” he asks, gesturing around them.

Ian ignores him utterly, crossing his arms over his chest and Mickey is too mad to even appreciate the way the action pulls the material tight over his boyfriend’s biceps. “You’re doing this, Mickey.”

“Oh, right, cuz you get a say in what I do and don’t do.” He scowls. “Fuck off.”

Ian remains unimpressed. “Yevgeny needs you to do this, so you’re doing it, it has nothing to do with me.”

“He’s got you and Lana, don’t he?” Mickey accuses. 

“Yep,” Ian agrees, nodding, “but that’s not his entire family, so you’re going to be there too.”

“Fuck you is where I’m gonna be.” Mickey flips him off and turns to get the fuck out of the bathroom and the fuck home. 

Ian grabs onto his forearm, holding him back. “What’s up, Mickey? Why is this freaking you out?”

Mickey tenses hating the way Ian sounds confused, like Mickey is being stupid. “It’s not. I just don’t fucking want to do it.”

“Okay . . .” He lets go of Mickey. “We’ll . . . see you at home, I guess. Can you pick Yev from, Debbie? No point in paying her to babysit.”

He nods tightly, pushing out of the bathroom and heading straight towards the front doors of the school. He makes it outside without hesitation, tugging his pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and lighting one up. There are parents milling about, some heading in, others heading out, and others just shooting the fucking breeze with their other parent friends. 

No one pays him any attention, leaning up against the brick side of the school, cigarette fixed between his fingers. “Fuck.” He drops his head back, the impact jarring him a little. 

He’s being a fucking pussy and he knows it but that’s not helping him in the least. Ian and Svetlana are inside being all bosom buddies with Yev’s kindergarten teacher and Mickey is hiding outside the school. Fucking pathetic. 

He can only begin to imagine what Miss Torise has to say about his kid, about Yevgeny’s Russian prostitute mother, his gay father, and his gay father’s gay-ass boyfriend. Jesus. It’s probably a fucking shit show in there. 

Mickey stumps out his cigarette against the wall, dropping it to the cement while glaring pointedly at the anti-litter poster plastered to the brick. The seconds tick by into minutes. Mickey shifts his hands into his pockets. His tie is too tight but he doesn’t feel like fixing it.

He presses his left hand to the bottom half of his face. God, he can just imagine going to shake the bitch’s hand and her face when she catches sight of his tattoos. Great fucking decision at sixteen and he’s never had a problem with them. Likes them even now, except for this very second. 

“Fuck.” He shoves his shoulders off the wall and reaches for his tie to set it straight and loose enough that he doesn’t feel like it’s strangling him. If the kindergarten teacher has a problem with him and his family, then she can fucking shove it. 

When he gets to Yev’s classroom, through the little window in the door, he can see Lana and Ian crammed around an activities table with Miss Torise. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, tells himself to get a fucking grip, and knocks on the door. 

Miss Torise looks up curiously, Lana doesn’t look up at all, and Ian whips his head back with a blinding smile. Douchebag. Ian’s up in a heartbeat crossing the room and opening the door for Mickey. “Hey,” he says softly, still smiling. 

Mickey makes a face at him. “Pull it together, Gallagher.”

Ian shrugs, his smile shifting to the side, the smile he gives Mickey when he’s extra sappy in love with him. Mickey will deny to anyone that it makes his heart twinge pleasantly, because Mickey isn’t fucking sappy. 

Miss Torise is standing up, hands smoothing down her pencil skirt. She smiles pleasantly at him, “You must be Mr. Milkovich, nice to meet you.”

And Mickey has a whoa what the fuck moment because he has literally never been referred to as Mr. Milkovich in his life. It’s completely fucking surreal. “Yeah, you too,” he manages, shoving his hand into hers and shaking firmly.

Her eyes skim his knuckles, but she doesn’t say anything. He pulls out the chair next to Ian and sits down. Svetlana shoots him a glance, one that says she’s still annoyed with him but will wait until later to threaten him for his transgression, it’s the best he can hope for really.

“I was just telling Mrs. Milkovich and Mr. Gallagher what a wonderful little boy you have.” Miss Torise nudges forward a series of papers with childish scribblings and drawings on them. 

Mr. Gallagher and Mrs. Milkovich. Jesus. This night is straight out of the fucking twilight zone. Mickey is way too young for any of this adult crap. His eyes skip to Ian who is definitely fucking too young for this, but Ian is just sitting there, grinning happily, nodding along as Miss Torise details Yevgeny’s group skills. 

“Yev really enjoys projects about his family,” Miss Torise tells them brightly. “As you can see here,” she selects a sheet of paper from her manila folder and places it on the table, “Yev has a very positive image of his family unit.”

Mickey peers down at the paper; it’s a drawing of the four of them, Svetlana, Ian, Mickey, and Yevgeny. Ian looks ridiculous, flaming red hair, wide curve of a grin, and a potato body, he’s stick figure hand is holding onto that of the tiny Yevgney. The Yevgeny stick figure has an oversized head for his little body, huge blue eyes, and a yellow scribble for hair, he’s holding onto Svetlana’s hand as well. Lana’s got preposterously long brown hair, is wearing a triangle shaped dress, and smiling with only one side of her mouth. And then there’s Mickey, standing next to Ian, and fucking flexing. 

Mickey doesn’t blush because he doesn’t get fucking embarrassed, but he can feel his cheeks heating. His stick figure has a shock of black hair, a smile that somehow looks both happy and pissed as hell, and his potato body is wearing a sleeveless shirt, both arms held up in a muscle pose with little bumps for muscles. 

Ian laughs. Because he’s a fucking asshole. Svetlana is grinning, finger tracing her triangle dress, and Miss Torise is pointing to the bottom half of the paper. “I asked them to describe their families,” she explains.

Mickey drops his gaze to the three wriggling lines of writing there, the letters too big, uneven, with spelling clarifications below them in red ink. ‘My mom is beautiful. She sings good. My Ian is funny. We play games. My daddy is very strong. He loves me.’

Mickey’s heart does not crack open. That is a thing that does not happen. Because Mickey is not a fucking sap, Ian is a sap, that is the balance of their relationship.

“I wasn’t sure what to have Yev label you as correctly, Mr. Gallagher,” Miss Torise apologizes but she’s also obviously probing. 

Ian shrugs, smiling so much he almost looks demented. “He calls me Ian, just Ian is fine.”

She nods, noting this down in her notebook. She pulls Yevgeny’s class papers back to her, shuffling them into her folder. “Now,” she folds her hands together, leaning forward, “Yevgeny is a very bright student and he’s a joy to have in class. The only issues we’ve had are at play time with the other students.”

“What issues?” Mickey asks, because Yevgeny hasn’t had a single complaint about school since he started. 

“He and a few of the other little boys have gotten into physical altercations,” Miss Torise explains. And holy fuck, the woman couldn’t just say they fight? Flash that degree around more, bitch. 

“Fights?” Ian asks, sounding surprised. “Yev gets into fights with the other kids?”

“Well,” Miss Torise sighs, the corner of her mouth looking like it’s fighting a smile, “Yev and the other boys, they’re very fond of play fighting, but they seem to have trouble with the concept that they shouldn’t actually hit each other. I’ve spoken with the other parents and their children, and I advised them, as I will you, to have a conversation with your son about safe play.”

Svetlana laughs and it’s fucking terrifying, their son is going to get a full on Russian lecture when they get home. “Yes, I will speak with Yevgeny.” Uh-huh, full on Russian lecture of doom because Lana is amazing at over the top lectures. 

“What are they playing?” Ian asks which doesn’t seem entirely on topic but Miss Torise goes with it.

“It would seem they are having matches of Steven Seagal versus Van Damme,” Miss Torise explains wryly. 

And holy fuck, if Mickey didn’t blush at Yev’s drawing, he sure as hell is now. He and Ian exchange terribly guilty looks and Lana’s gaze narrows in on them like a fucking laser. The downward turn of her mouth guarantees he and Ian just joined the ranks of receiving traumatizing Russian lectures. 

“Right,” Ian coughs, hand coming up to cover his smile, “we’ll definitely deal with that. Thank you for making us aware of the problem.”

Miss Torise smiles benignly. “Like I said, he’s a great student otherwise,” and from there she weaves a web of all the different areas of success Yevgeny has, and Mickey sort of zones out, because this seriously isn’t his fucking thing and Ian’ll probably be gushing about all of it in the car in fifteen minutes anyway so no point in hearing about it twice. 

His eyes skirt back to the portfolio, the one with their family picture inside. There’s tons of Yev’s drawings and school work on their battered fridge, but that picture, well fucking whatever but Mickey kinda wants to frame it. Put it up in the living room where everyone who comes over will have to look at it and see that Mickey isn’t fucking this up. 

He’s got a fucking smart kid who loves him, loves his fucking family, and that is way more than anything Mickey, Ian, or Svetlana had growing up. That is something worth fucking framing at Michael’s or whatever dumbass place frames shit. 

So as the conference is wrapping up and Miss Torise is shuffling all her shit together, Mickey asks, “Can we have the picture?”

She looks at him curiously. “Picture?”

“Yeah, the one with the family stuff.” Beside him, he can practically fucking feel Ian’s goofball smile. Mickey is not being sappy though so Ian can just fuck off. 

“Oh,” Miss Torise’s smile is entirely knowing, “yes, of course.” She opens Yev’s folder, thumbs through the contents until coming to the picture. She pulls it out and hands it over to Mickey, her eyes glancing across his knuckles again. “Although I’m sort of glad he hasn’t mastered reading yet.”

She taps at the Mickey stick figure. Frowning, Mickey squints at the picture and – oh – shit. Ian laughs and Svetlana scowls, because, yeah, their kid totally scribbled wobbly letters onto stick figure Mickey’s hands. The ‘F’ is there and so is the ‘U’ but the rest is a mash of ‘I,’ ‘P,’ ‘Z,’ ‘Y,’ ‘E,’ and ‘N.’ 

“Right,” Mickey finds himself saying. “Guess I’ll have a talk with him when the time comes around to reading.”

Miss Torise laughs a little. “Yes, well, maybe just telling him they’re your favorite letters and not words is the better way to go?”

“Yes,” Svetlana says darkly. Ian won’t stop laughing cuz he’s an asshole who lives for Mickey’s misery. 

Standing, Miss Torise says, “It was lovely meeting with you, thank you so much for coming, I know making time for conferences can be difficult and the fact that you all made time in your schedules is very much appreciated.” She dimples a smile at them and shakes each of their hands in turn. 

Then they’re trooping back through the school to Mickey’s shitty beat up car with Yev’s big ass kid safety seat strapped into the back seat. Ian climbs gamely in beside it, leaving Svetlana with the passenger seat and the asshole might be trying to be chivalrous but that shit isn’t going to fly with Lana. Bitch is angry, because, admittedly, Ian and Mickey might have fucked up. Just a little. 

Still, Mickey hands off the picture to Ian to keep safe and steels himself as he turns on the car and puts it in reverse. Lana lays into them only seconds later. 

“Fucking shitheads, both of you! Make my boy fight!” She glares at them with hostility. “This stupid Seagal and Van Damme. What does Yevgeny need to know of them?”

“Lana,” Ian tries and Mickey thinks he’s a fucking idiot. Best to let Lana get her threats out with, nod your understanding, then leave her the fuck alone for a few hours. “We were just messing around a few times, we didn’t think Yevgeny would think anything of it.”

“A few times?” she cries incredulously. “Every weekend we must watch the action movies. Always things exploding, always this Seagal and Van Damme fighting. And you think my Yev won’t think of it?”

“We’ll talk to him, I promise,” Ian says. 

She narrows her eyes viciously at him in the rearview. “No, you will say nothing to him. I will talk with him. Mother knows best.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ian backs down quickly and when Svetlana shoots her gaze to Mickey, he juts his chin out.

“Fuck Van Damme.”

Ian bursts out laughing and Svetlana takes to whacking Mickey’s arm angrily. 

“’Ay! ‘Ay! Lay the fuck off, I’m driving,” he growls, shoving her back while Ian cheers her on from the backseat. 

“You make joke? Yev is in trouble and you make joke?” Lana asks with disgust, but at least she lays off the beating. 

Mickey rolls his eyes heavily. “She said he got into play fights at recess, Lana, not that he was joining an afterschool fight club.”

“My Yev does not fight,” she counters stubbornly.

“What?” Mickey can’t even believe she’s trying that. “Of course our kid fights, he’s fucking Southside with Southside parents who have all gotten into more than our share of fights. I’d be more concerned if he wasn’t fighting. Think he was a fucking pod person or some Northside yuppie.”

Svetlana huffs, arms crossing over her chest, but she doesn’t argue him, so Mickey feels he’s on safe ground. “Come on,” he says, nudging her with his elbow. “The teacher practically said we have a genius, kid’s even got group skills, whatever the fuck those are. We should be fucking celebrating.”

“Yeah,” Ian chips in, leaning forward obnoxiously between their seats, wrapping one arm around Mickeky’s shoulders and the other around Svetlana’s. “Our little genius, what are we gonna do to celebrate that?”

“Not fucking juice,” Mickey says definitively before any idiots with red hair get ideas about that because fuck no, Yev is not going to get his little self all hopped on juice and tear the house down on his juice high.

Ian laughs, knocking his head into Mickey’s like that’s not fucking annoying. “Still driving,” he growls. 

“Yeah, okay, whatever, Grandpa, there are like three cars on this street, just aim to not run the rust buckets off the street, okay?”

Mickey takes a hand off the wheel to shove Ian’s face back into the back seat. “Put your fucking seat belt on, asshole.” He catches Ian’s triumphant smirk in the mirror.

“Ice cream,” Svetlana suggests, dragging them all back on topic and Mickey is fucking grateful her ire seems to have faded out with the reminder that their kid’s acing this whole kindergarten thing.

“Yeah, the superman kind,” Ian agrees excitedly.

Mickey heaves a sigh, swerving the car left at the stop sign just to hear his passengers scream. “Thought I was a grandpa,” he taunts, smirking. 

“No, you are fucking shithead,” Lana declares, smacking him soundly on the shoulder.

Mickey laughs because yeah, he is a fucking shithead, and pulls them into Kash and Grab’s shitty parking lot. “Hop to it, Gallagher,” he directs, putting the car in park.

Ian groans, but jumps out gamely, running into the brightly lit mini mart. Mickey turns to Svetlana whose still frowning. “Come on, Lana,” he says, “our kid’s doing alright, that’s pretty fucking amazing, isn’t it?”

Her frown deepens before she turns to Mickey and it melts away completely. She affords him a rare smile. “Yevgeny is amazing, yes, you are still shithead though, and so is orange boy.”

“Uh-huh,” Mickey smiles because from Svetlana, that’s practically a declaration of everlasting love. 

When they get back home, having picked up Yevgeny from the Gallagher residence, Yev is watching them all with wide blue eyes. “What?” Mickey asks, carrying him into the house. 

Yev leans his head against Mickey’s shoulder, little hands clutching at Mickey’s tie. “Does school like me?”

Ian smiles, ruffling a hand over Yev’s fluffy blonde hair. Kid has got like static electricity running through him, his hair never sits flat. Ian loves it, says it’s some Harry Potter shit or something, but it drives Svetlana crazy who spends fucking hours trying to get Yev’s hair to settle into some type of non-fluff. 

“Totally, Yev, they love you, you’re their favorite one.” Ian kisses Yevgeny’s cheek before tugging off his tie and throwing it in the direction of their room. 

Svetlana tuts disapprovingly because they all know she’s the one that’s going to pick it up later. “You are wonderful student, Yevgeny,” she tells their son, pinching his cheek like the old Russian woman she is at her soul. “We are proud of you.”

“Really?” Yev asks, peering up at Mickey with beseeching eyes.

Mickey rolls his. “Would’ve left you at Debbie’s if we weren’t.”

“Mickey!” Ian admonishes, swooping in and taking Yev from his arms. Yevgeny goes with it happily enough, letting out a trilling ‘eee’ as Ian swings him around then swoops him down. “We’d never leave you anywhere, you’re stuck with us forever, Yev. Even when we’re old and crazy and trying to eat shoelaces instead of spaghetti.”

Yevgeny belly laughs like this is the funniest shit he has ever heard, kid is a fucking sucker for Ian. Svetlana sets the ice cream on the table and places Yev’s picture next to it before moving to the cabinets for spoons and bowls. 

Mickey sits down at the table, easing off his tie as he looks over the picture again, ignoring that warm feeling in his chest that comes with it because he is not a fucking sap. He looks up to see Ian watching him with a goofy smile like the real sap he is. “Yev, tell me about this,” Mickey says, pointing to the picture. 

Yevgeny wriggles down gracelessly from Ian’s arms and runs over to Mickey, climbing up readily into his lap. “I drawed it,” he explains. 

“Yeah,” Mickey smirks, “I got that part.”

“Drew it,” Ian corrects, sitting down next to Mickey and hooking his ankle around Mickey’s. 

Svetlana sets down the dishes and drags her chair up the other side of Mickey’s. “It’s beautiful,” she nods to the picture.

Yev wiggles in Mickey’s lap, obviously embarrassed by the praise. Mickey kisses the side of his kid’s head, reassuring. “Tell me about it.”

“Well,” Yev starts, drawing out the word until it’s way too fucking long. “That’s Mommy,” he points a stubby finger at Svetlana’s stick figure. “She’s got a pretty dress cuz Mommy’s pretty.”

Svetlana’s smile is small and secret, she runs a fond hand over Yevgeny’s hair, thumb rubbing affectionately at his cheek. “Thank you, my Yevgeny.”

He smiles shyly at her. “And this,” he points to himself, “is me and I’m holding hands with Mommy cuz she’s my mommy and I’m holding Ian’s hand because he’s my best friend.” 

Mickey risks a glance at his boyfriend, and yep, Ian’s got sappily glistening eyes. “Uh-huh,” Mickey encourages. 

“This is Ian,” he traces Ian’s wild red hair. “He’s the biggest cuz he’s even bigger than you, Daddy,” Yev explains which makes Ian laugh. 

“You going to be tall like me?” he asks Yev.

Yevgeny nods vigorously. “I’m going to be super super tall, like Thor tall.”

“Right,” Mickey says sarcastically, “because a guy wielding a hammer with hair longer than your mom’s is exactly who you want to aspire to.”

Svetlana pinches his side and Mickey kicks her. “Daddy,” Yev giggles, not noticing the fight beside him, “Thor’s hair isn’t longer than Mommy’s that would be silly.”

“Oh, of course, my bad,” Mickey apologizes, as sincerely as he can manage while glaring fucking daggers at his wife. That kick was uncalled for, probably gonna bruise, bitch. 

Yev cuddles back, further into Mickey who wraps an arm around his waist to secure him. “And this is you.” He points to the muscled Mickey. “You always take care of us, and you’re ready to fight off any bad guys, see,” he jabs at the muscles.

“Yeah,” Mickey says softly, “I see.” He kisses the back of Yev’s head. 

And because his wife and boyfriend are fucking idiots, they lean in and kiss Yev’s cheeks. It’s a triangle of a kiss and Yev is giggling happily, wiggling around like crazy as Svetlana and Ian make obnoxious kissing sounds because they are fucking idiots, like he said. 

“Alright, alright,” Mickey calls out because he is not a sap and this is enough _Full House_ bonding for the night, “are we eating this ice cream or what?”

Because his kid is five years old and sugar is fucking gold to him, Yev screams, “Ice cream!” loud enough to deafen them all. 

Jesus. 

Still, Mickey looks around as Svetlana serves up ice cream and Ian goes to magnet the picture on the fridge in a place of honor, things could be worse. His kid is doing good in school, he’s got not one but three fucking parents who would burn the world down for him, and there’s enough love going on in this house that it could make a sap out of someone like Mickey. Not that he is a sap, because he fucking isn’t, but he could be, that’s all he’s saying.


End file.
